Just Elope Already
by primitiveLOGIC
Summary: In which Sherlock gets married. Obviously.


**I accidentally broke my editor from shock when I tried to get them to edit this, so this isn't edited. I have edited chapters of at least two stories now, just gotta post them at some point.**

 **Thank you to my new editor and old friend: BunBunTeddyBunBun.**

It truly was a beautiful day. The sun was just rising out of the trees. Birds were singing, Sherlock restrained the ability to swat (and possibly kill) the birds for experiments. His boyfriend had told him, "Don't kill the damned birds, and I'll let you do experiments on me instead."

Needless to say, Sherlock didn't need much convincing.

Indeed, today, Sherlock was being fitted, stuffed would be more accurate, into his wedding gown. Obviously, his wedding gown was for a wedding; and not just any wedding, _his_ wedding. It was to the most fabulous, brilliant, amazing and complex man in all of England. He would wait at the end of the aisle, while Sherlock walked towards him dressed like the princess he'd dreamt of since he was small. It was a dream come true, after all, weddings were usually a man's dream, weren't they? Back in kindergarten all the boys would ponder what their weddings would be like. Well, Sherlock didn't need to ponder anymore.

His wedding dress was silky, smooth, and tight. It had a corset, so it slimmed down his waist, and his breathing, but they didn't need to hear about that. It subtly bloomed out at the bottom, allowing him room to move his soft, creamy legs. His ever changing eyes were made bigger by mascara and an expensive Sephora makeup palette. Sherlock had even combed his uncontrollable hair, which hardly mattered because his hair was covered in the great snowstorm mass that was called his veil apparently. It was long, so long that it trailed far behind him, to God knows where. Sherlock swore that the end of it was covered in dirt and slugs. He was assured that it wasn't, which disappointed him. Pity. He couldn't see an inch in front of his face because of the amount of fabric in his veil. A monstrosity, really. Why would anyone want to wear that?

The hardest part of all, however, would be wearing heels. They were fantastic, eight inched, creamy, platform heels, but incredibly hard to walk in. Really, a man as tall as him didn't need to be wearing heels. Short men, maybe. Tall men? Never. But here he was. His soon-husband did have a thing for tall men, although it would be a bit hard to kiss him at the altar.

Sherlock walked down the aisle with the most pleasant expression that he could muster. The lingerie under his wedding dress making him want to itch himself everywhere. It was almost as uncomfortable as the corset. It would be worth it soon. Mmm, him, his newly wed husband, sexily taking off his corset. _That_ sounded like a good time.

Down at the end of the aisle was his fiancee. He looked so very handsome in his Westwood suit, same brand as his brother. Even Sherlock had to admit his brother had great taste in suits, not that he would ever admit it. Sherlock's fiancee's hair was washed and combed impeccably, almost identical to Sherlock's new 'do.

Sherlock had made his fiancee shave because he'd started growing out his facial hair again. Sherlock did so prefer his husbands clean shaven. His fiancee had just laughed, but he'd shaved anyway. Sherlock was very "persuasive".

All eyes were on him as he sauntered down the aisle, his fiancee's eyes burning into his, and Sherlock hardly noticed anyone else in the room.

Finally, after an eternity, Sherlock reached the end of the aisle, although he had tripped over himself in his heels along the way. They could only stare at each other, lost in each other's eyes, or other places, eternally, only stirring as the priest spoke the long awaited words, "And do you, Sherlock, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Sherlock nodded through tears, whether through the pain of his lingerie or actually emotionally teared up, no one will ever know, as he smiled ever so gracefully at his beautiful lover. "I do."

"And do you," the priest smiled at the man beside Sherlock. "Take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do." spoke the man, smiling.

"Well, Jim." Sherlock grinned. "Jim Moriarty, Consulting Criminal of my dreams."

The two didn't hear the rest of the priest's speech as their lips crashed together, running their hands through each other's hair. Sherlock Moriarty. It had a dashing ring to it, they thought. It wasn't the only thing with a dashing ring to it anymore, either.

Next thing they knew, they were in bed, hoping for a little Andrew Moriarty... but they got sidetracked _very_ quickly. They did unspeakable things to each other.

* * *

Sherlock woke with a start, drenched in a pool of sweat. God, that would be a Bit Not Good Thing. That would be _terrible._ He shuddered. He glanced over to his real fiancee, Irene. She stirred quietly. Sherlock smiled lovingly at her, caressing her cheek. She smiled and sat up on the bed, while Sherlock had the quiet realization she was most definitely not wearing clothes. Sherlock's hand slipped off of her cheek, feeling somewhat wrong about the motion.

"Sherlock." she whispered, coming closer, pressing herself against him and kissing his cheek, warm lips against his skin... "I'm _pregnant_."

* * *

Sherlock woke again, for real this time, with a startled yelp. Sherlock glanced over to John in a flurry, who was quietly sleeping without a care in the world, delicate smile on his lips.

"Maybe it's best not to speak of this to John." Sherlock though idly.

Where would he even start? Him, wearing a dress? John would never let him hear the end of it. Him, having a child with Irene? John would be so jealous. Maybe he should tell him that part, actually. Him, marrying Moriarty? Having rather adventurous "play time" as he and Moriarty seemingly liked to call it? Oh God, the numerous amount of kinks, exploring, and... _Adventuring._ Good God, no, Sherlock shook his head, rubbing his temples.

John could think he needed a therapist if Sherlock told him about this dream. Sherlock quietly sighed as he padded out to the bathroom, splashing water on his face. He'd gotten very near to almost _enjoying_ that dream. He heard foot steps behind him. He spun around, face dripping wet. His eyes scanned the room carefully. He buried his face in his towel first and rubbed his face dry with it before skulking out into his living room to find...

" _Hello sexy_."

Sherlock groaned, his head banging against the wall. _He had to be on drugs right now._


End file.
